Invisible Ink

When Anon, no one now,
knew for sure the cu and koo
he spelled from his mouth
could put the tribe in sight
of a call they’d met before
in their ears, the air ever after
was invisible ink.

Then, hey nonny no,
the poets came; rhyme, metre,
metaphor, there for the taking
for every chancer of upstart crow
in hedgerow, meadow, forest, pool;
shared words, vast same poem
for all to write.

I snap a twig
from a branch as I walk, sense
the nib of it dip and sip, dip
and sip, a first draft of the gift –
anonymous yet – texted from the heart
to my lips; my hand dropping a wand
into this fluent, glittery stream.

– Carol Ann Duffy


About handshedown

Keighley Perkins is a Cardiff-based poet whose influences include Anis Mojgani, Selima Hill and Richard Brautigan. Her work has previously been published in "Acumen", "Elbow Room", "Erbacce", "Fire", "Northwind" and "Obsessed with Pipework". She can also be found online on Twitter at @handshedown. View all posts by handshedown

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